


these days (turned out nothing like i had planned)

by Fremdshamen



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, M/M, Sadness, Spoilery Warning in End Notes, general misery, no happy ending, non-consensual drugging, non-graphic medical torture, they do not get them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27775846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fremdshamen/pseuds/Fremdshamen
Summary: At least if they had killed him, there would be some closure.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Everyone, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88
Collections: Dick Grayson Fic Exchange 2020





	these days (turned out nothing like i had planned)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheWayneManner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWayneManner/gifts).



It was Batman that found him, huddled on a Gotham rooftop in the shelter of a crappy ventilation system, trying to distract himself with casework. Jason supposed that it was too much to ask for a little space to deal with... _everything_.

Not that Bruce would ever understand that particular impulse, but Jason would have thought that at least Alfred’s influence would have bought him some space.

Breathing room. That’s all he needed right now.

“Hood,” Batman’s usual gravel was softer, and Jason really, _really_ couldn’t handle that right now, either.

“I’m working.” He grunted back, refusing to turn around. If he didn’t look, maybe Batman would take the hint.

And maybe Freeze would take a beach vacation.

“Hood,” Bruce tried again, and it was Bruce this time, the gravel gone entirely. It was enough to make Jason turn without thinking.

“I’m _working_ ,” Jason ground out, glaring at the man despite his full helmet somewhat ruining the effect. Bruce could read body language and tone. He’d figure it out.

Bruce said nothing in response, merely levelling a steady gaze at Jason. The silence stretched, long enough to make Bruce’s point loud and clear.

_Nothing is happening here. Nothing is happening here that is more important than what -_ who _\- is waiting at the Manor._

Jason shifted slightly, and refused to label the emotion heavy in his chest as guilt. There was nothing he could do there, anyway. He hated the Manor, hadn’t stayed there for longer than a few hours since he had rejoined the family, and it was all worse, now. He didn’t want to go. He couldn’t stay there.

“I’m working,” he tried again, glancing down at the empty warehouse. The deal was still supposed to be two nights off, but Jason had nothing better to do, and he hadn’t been back to the apartment since...

Well. Since.

“He misses you,” Bruce tried, and Jason reeled around, rage welling up, bubbling over at the guilt trip.

“He doesn’t and you know it,” Jason growled past the lump in his throat, “You know damn well that he _can’t_ anymore. Not really.”

“He’s different when you’re around him.” Bruce seemed completely unphased by Jason’s anger, which only made it spike higher. He couldn’t help the growl that escaped him, or the way his fists tightened. There were green sparks at the edges of his vision and he itched to grab a gun.

Bruce moved slowly, and Jason choked a little as Batman lowered his cowl, on a shitty warehouse rooftop in Gotham’s seedy industrial district, out in the open where anyone could see.

“Please.” Bruce said softly, and Jason felt the rage leave him all at once, exhaustion and... _other_ emotions taking over. He wouldn’t look at those too closely. The rage and the work were easier.

But Bruce was asking. Bruce said please. _Bruce_ said _please_.

And despite everything, despite the pain and grief and guilt and shame, Jason _wanted_ to see him.

His shoulders slumped, and Bruce softened further.

“Fine.”

———————————

The coffee pot was empty, but there Dick stood, insisting that he was refilling Tim’s mug as he poured nothing but air into it. At some indeterminable point, Dick must have decided it was “full”, and he stopped pouring. Tim couldn’t help but feel relieved as he wandered away again, and then guilt that he was relieved.

He heard Alfred murmuring as Dick approached him, grabbing at the teacup Alfred was holding so that could be topped up as well. They had learned the hard way that Dick either no longer understood ownership or possibly that he particularly cared, and unless they wanted to wrestle him it was better to let him take the things he wanted. He still seemed to understand items that were dangerous, like knives and the stove. It was unclear if he understood what they said to him, but he was still easy enough to get along with.

Tim sipped at his coffee as he looked over the Wayne Enterprises end of quarter financials. He tried not to eavesdrop, but it was always like this these days - his attention hyper focused on Dick’s every move, part of him wondering if this would be the day he improved.

“Gently, Master Dick.” Alfred said softly, and Tim heard the clink of the glass coffee pot.

“Man inside milkshake,” Dick replied, before he began humming tunelessly.

“Indeed, my boy. Would you care to join me?” There was a shifting noise, and Tim was peripherally aware of Alfred standing, Dick trailing after him.

“Hunter dawn around this one,” Dick said, his tiny smile still in place, eyes as empty as always. He took the teacup Alfred offered him, carrying it back to the table without prompting.

Tim tried to focus on his reports but it became more difficult as Dick moved closer to him, changing seats so he was close enough that Tim could feel his bother’s body heat. It wasn’t right, this weird, empty shell of his brother. It was...

“I’m going to head out,” Tim said, standing abruptly and shutting his laptop with more force than was strictly necessary. He tried not to look like he was rushing, but he couldn’t deny in his own mind the fact that he was fleeing his injured brother.

Because of what? Some smiling? A bit of humming?

Tim swallowed down the shame and guilt and headed for the change rooms. A night focussing on the Falcone’s new attempt at breaking into human trafficking was just what he needed. And if he stayed out late enough that he headed back to his apartment instead of coming all the way back to Bristol, well. Nobody could really blame him, could they?

———————————

They ran into the Replacement as they headed into the Cave. The way he looked at Jason... the way they all looked at Jason - it was frustrating. It made the feelings bubble up again, and he wanted nothing more than to turn around and head back out.

Being here would change nothing.

But there was Bruce, striding ahead of him, refusing to give him an easy chance to back out. It wouldn’t stop Jason from bolting if he really wanted to, but everything Bruce had conceded so far... the man clearly wanted him here.

And Jason, as much as he didn’t want to be here, also did. That was the damn hook, he thought bitterly as he removed the helmet and pulled away the domino. He loved Dick, even as changed as he was now.

They changed in silence, Jason completely unsurprised to find clothes in his size in the store cupboards. Batman prepared for the streets, Alfred prepared for his family - even the wayward, slightly murderous black sheep of the family.

His heart was pounding as he followed Bruce up the stairs, the chill of the cave giving way to the warmth of the Manor. The study was unchanged from his last visit, nothing to show any difference in his visit this time.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to cry. He wanted to shoot and shoot and _shoot_ until every last piece of scum on the planet was in the ground.

Instead, he swallowed down the lump in his throat and followed Bruce to the kitchen, finding the dining nook occupied. Surprisingly quiet, Dick was sitting at the table, staring at his father and Jason as they approached. He was holding a teacup and the chair next to his was askew, Tim’s laptop abandoned there.

Jason knew he wasn’t the only one struggling, but Tim wasn’t usually that careless with his electronics.

“Dick,” Bruce rumbled quietly, his voice deep in the stillness of the kitchen. Dick didn’t respond, choosing instead to turn his gaze to Jason alone.

“We’ve had an easy evening,” Alfred murmured, standing from his own spot at the table and collecting the discarded crockery, “He’s been helping serve the coffee.”

The lump in his throat returned as Jason stood frozen a few steps away from Dick, gazes locked together. He looked so similar to before...

“Jason.” Dick said, staring at him. He wasn’t smiling anymore. The kitchen quieted, so silent Jason fancied he could hear the distant screams of Gotham’s nightly victims, miles away.

Or maybe that was his own shredded heart.

No one moved, or spoke, or even breathed, it seemed. The moment stretched. That had sounded like...

And then Dick turned away, drank his tea, and began to tunelessly hum, feet kicking a little. Jason closed his eyes against the tears.

He never should have come.

———————————

_He couldn’t move. He was cold, the room was freezing, and his captor’s hands where they were roughly hacking away at his hair were icy. He couldn’t stop the uncomfortable way his head lolled back and forth as his hair was cut, the person silent in the grim, cold room._

_The yanking stopped, but then he heard a buzzing noise, like swarms of angry bees were descending. The first tickle sent an involuntary shudder down his back before his addled mind made sense of it - clippers. They were getting rid of the rest of his hair._

_He was trembling from the cold, but the straps were soft and tight and made no noise. Only the clippers did, loud in this horrible room._

_The buzzing stopped. The person went away. He was alone, and cold, and he wanted to go home._

_“Excellent work,” came a loud voice near him, but he couldn’t jump. He barely twitched in his drugged surprise, unable to even whimper as hands settled on his head. A shadow moved, and as it leaned closer he could just make out a masked face, white surrounding two dark eyes, like black holes. “Hello there, Nightwing. I’m here to help you.”_

_The figure moved away, and he was cold and tired and he wanted to leave this place. He wanted Jason to be here, holding him, maybe shooting these people in the kneecaps a little for hurting him and scaring him._

_“Now, now.” The face was back, dark eyes crinkling as though this man was smiling at him. A hand brushed his face, skin chilling. Tears. He was crying. “There’s no need to be frightened, we’re going to help you today. We’re here for you. Everything will be so much better soon.”_

_He shivered silently, staring at his captor and dimly wishing he could punch him in the face, really_ really _hard. In lieu of that, he wanted Jason. He wanted home._

_“In cases like yours, it’s clear that standard treatments won’t be enough. The delusions are too prolonged, too violent, too ingrained into the psyche. Non-invasive therapy will not be enough.” The face vanished, but the voice continued, oddly warm in this freezing slice of hell. He could hear things clattering, sliding, shifting, but was too foggy to understand what was happening._

_Jason. He wanted Jason._

_“You’re going to feel so much better when we’re done here today,” the voice continued, “and you’ll hopefully be able to resume a normal life. No more rooftops, or any delusional heroism nonsense. Just a happy life, quiet and satisfying.”_

_He felt something cold on his head, and the dim feeling of pain, of_ cutting _. The buzzing returned, shrill and grating, near his ear. He wanted to turn away, to pull at his bindings, to_ stop _this, whatever this was._

_The face returned, the buzzing growing in volume. He stared up at the man helplessly._

_“I can’t wait to meet the new you.”_

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS: Dick has been lobotomised by an unspecified baddie which has left him with brain damage and a severely altered mental state. The lobotomy is non-graphically implied at the end.


End file.
